


Romantic Man

by SociopathicAngel



Series: Project Sunshine [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, More of an Engagement fic, This is an apology for Sunshine, can be read as a stand-alone, sort of, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SociopathicAngel/pseuds/SociopathicAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes wasn’t, and unfortunately never would be, what one could call a romantic individual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romantic Man

**Author's Note:**

> This was a short "emotional compensation" piece I had to write for one of my test-dummies after he finished Sunshine. You don't have to read Sunshine first, but obviously I wouldn't stop you from doing so.

Sherlock Holmes wasn’t, and unfortunately never would be, what one could call a romantic individual. At least, never intentionally. Now and then he had would do something or another that could be considered romantic, though usually it hadn’t been planned as such. Handing John his coat at a crime scene on a particularly chilly morning, for example, was really just him taking preventive measures against future griping that could cut down on his time at the scene – or the time he’d made plans for dinner on what just happened to be an anniversary, which he will take to the grave.

The smaller things like ordering John’s favourite take out when he came home beaten down from work, walking home instead of hailing a cab on particularly sunny or lightly rainy days when it would suit John’s mood, or even just retiring from an experiment at a normal hour to join John in bed for the night, Sherlock never thought twice about doing any of those. But he’d been doing that long before they became an official “item.”

So it came as somewhat of a surprise to everyone who knew them when it was Sherlock who proposed. A year and a half from the end of the _Got Mail?_ case, once they’d both recovered as much as they were ever going to from the warehouse collapse, Sherlock all but forced John out of the flat and down to the park. They walked for hours, enjoying the light misting rain and each other’s company. While Sherlock had worked dutifully to return John’s love of the sun back to him, and had largely succeeded in doing so, they both still found comfort in London’s constantly wet state. It was a balance, being able to love both, and some days were less easy with it than others.

It stands to be repeated that Sherlock Holmes is _not_ an intentionally romantic man. And yet, John Watson would argue that his method of proposal on that day was absolutely perfect.

His method, as it happened, was to turn and stare down at the shorter man for several long seconds, expression unreadable and bangs dripping onto his face, then lean down to gently kiss him and announce, “John, I do believe that I would very much like to be married to you.”

Two months later, Sherlock found himself standing at the altar, his partner only a step away, surrounded by a very small smattering of those they would call close friends. It’d been agreed to keep it all very small and simple, both for John’s comfort and Sherlock’s, and while Sherlock would very much have liked to simply elope – an option John _had_ put out there for him – he was thankful they’d decided on a ceremony instead.

Sherlock, if ever asked, will say that the ceremony was over in a flash and he hardly recalls any of it. In some ways, this was true. He cannot for the life of him recall the words said or in what order things were done. He can, however, recall in absolute clarity every single detail of John’s face throughout the ceremony. In his mind, that was the only important part of that day anyway. The rest was merely a legal formality, something to have on paper and recognizable to all that his man was now his.

And of that day, the only bit that Sherlock cemented absolutely into his memory was the way John’s eyes had shone when he received his ring, and the knowledge of its engravings. He didn’t care what the weather had been – sunny, with a few wispy clouds hanging about – or how either of them had been dressed – matching tuxedos, picked out at Lestrade’s insistence – or even how the final kiss had been – chaste, but warm.

Sherlock Holmes was not a romantic man, but he was at his core, a sap.


End file.
